


Just Watching, Not Looking

by messofthejess



Series: Jess's Carry On Countdown 2020 [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Fem!Simon, One-Sided Attraction, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining, Rugby, fem!Baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messofthejess/pseuds/messofthejess
Summary: Fellas, is it gay to watch your roommate slog through a rugby match in the rain when you know she can't see you?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Jess's Carry On Countdown 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034865
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Just Watching, Not Looking

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty telling that both times I've participated in this event, I've chosen to answer the WLW prompt. Hmmm...
> 
> Decided to go with a fem!Snowbaz for this one. I got the idea for this a few months back when fem!Snowbaz was all the rage. Shoutout to KrisRix, whose rendition of fem!Simon gives me life. 
> 
> Special thanks to BasicBathsheba for giving this one a quick pass and a thumbs-up. You're simply the best, as always.
> 
> This is for Day 6 of the Carry On Countdown 2020: WLW (Women Loving Women).

Snow is an absolute terror on the pitch.

It’s insulting that they’re still allowed to call this a pitch while the ruggers are tearing it up. Say what you want about football, but at least there is more grass than mud left behind after we’re done with a game. Today, I’ll be surprised if a single blade is left quivering in the breeze.

Why they insist on slogging through with a match in the rain is beyond me. A fine mist would be tolerable. Enjoyable, even, at this time of the year. Right now, it’s on the verge of a downpour. The scrum is a mass of muddled green and purple stripes, great wafts of steam rising from their heads as they pant together. Snow, of course, is the steamiest of them all.

Barbaric.

And yet I’m still here. Dev left a half hour ago, mumbling something about studying (studying the freckles on Nina’s face, more likely – Dev may be a Grimm, but she’s never taken her studies seriously in her life). Most of the other spectators have drifted away, unable to justify getting drenched for the sake of watching twenty-six girls slug it out in the mud. Even Pen, Snow’s dread companion, gave up supporting her for the sake of staying dry and trudged back toward the dormitories.

Not like Snow cares who’s in the stands anyway. When she’s focused, there is very little that can distract her. Right now, she seems intent on crashing through anyone who dares to get in her way. Head low, legs pumping, odd diamond ball tucked up under one arm.

Someone comes tearing up on her left. Snow deftly slips away, only to be flattened into the mud by a huge winger, the number 11 stretched across her back in white. The ball pops out from underneath them both and is scooped up by someone else from Snow’s team who I can’t quite make out through the rain. A mass of girls swarms down the pitch, and I think I hear Coach Quinn yell “Try!” before cheering breaks out.

Snow still hasn’t gotten up. The winger had pushed herself up almost immediately and is squatting next to the puddle where Snow is presumably lying face-down. I see the winger reach out for Snow’s shoulder, only for Snow to suddenly roll face-up, her entire front smeared with mud.

She’s _laughing_. Her whole body shakes with every bellow.

“Haven’t been taken down like that in ages, mate!” she yells, despite the winger being right next to her. “Fuckin’ brilliant. Merlin.”

The winger grins and helps pull Snow to her feet. She rubs a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to clear away some of the mud, then reaches up with dirty fingers to yank out her hair tie. Bronze curls spill all over just above her shoulders before she claws them back up into something resembling a bun on top of her head. Utterly ridiculous, the way she keeps her hair. Either commit to cropping it short (manageable), buzz it off altogether (tragic), or grow it out to a proper length and deal with it then.

“Did we get it?!” She squints down the pitch, the rain beating down harder still. “We did?! Awright!” Even through the rain, her stubby white teeth gleam in a wide grin.

Then she’s bolting down to the rest of the thundering herd of ruggers, shorts hiked up over her ridiculous muddy thighs. Only after her team goes for the extra point (points, perhaps, the scoring system makes no sense to me) does she have the sense to tug her shorts back down again. They’re far too tight as it is – how she even runs is a miracle to me.

I cross my legs firmly and pull the Watford scarf Dev got me as a gag Christmas gift back up over my nose. The rain isn’t letting up, and I can feel a chill settling into my shoulders that I know I’ll be complaining about later. Still, I have to stay here. Let Snow catch a glimpse of me watching, let her think I’m plotting something nefarious.

She doesn’t have to know I’m looking at her.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe come bug me over on Tumblr (also at messofthejess) to be sure I fill some of the other COC 2020 prompts.


End file.
